


My Fault

by championofnone



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:09:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/championofnone/pseuds/championofnone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thought diplomacy would work.</p><p>She'd never regretted being peaceful more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Fault

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have messed up and caused the death of clan Lavellan :| It's not addressed in game. Why is this not addressed in game when your Inquisitor's family is dead?

She trusted her advisers. Given that she was rarely at Skyhold between closing rifts and dealing with remaining bands of rogue templars and mages, they had to instill trust in their Inquisitor, that everything would be left standing when she arrived back at the fortress. 

Falen had entrusted the dealings of Wycome and her clan to Josephine; the woman could charm even the most spiteful of people into calm, and the Inquisitor was certain this time would be no different. The nobles of the town would surely calm themselves down.

She arrived back at Skyhold shortly before the ambassador’s messenger arrived, holding a brief meeting in the war room to get a summary of the last few missions the troops had been on.

The scout came rushing in, not even bothering to knock, cheeks ink from the cold wind and running. “Lady Montilyet, I - ah! Inquisitor!” 

The Dalish woman blinked. “It’s alright. What message do you bring?”

The scout swallowed. Falen wished she could remember the man’s name, but it escaped her. “I don’t bring good news, Lady Inquisitor.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She extended her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, the scout placed the letter into it. He shifted on his feet nervously as she read it.

The ever-present flame on Josephine’s note board flickered, gently at first, then flaring high enough to startle her into dropping the board. “Falen?”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen started, palm nervously resting on the war table. “What does it read?” 

“I suggest you evacuate this wing as quickly as possible,” she replied, voice level and without a hint of emotion. Josephine and Leliana exchanged a look; the Inquisitor was a warm, inviting woman. For her to be cold, it was something extreme. 

“If you’re going to be throwing magic about, I sho-”

“Cullen.” Her hands tightened on the paper, threatening to rip it in half. “You will want to leave. All of you.” She paused. “Even you, Josephine.” 

The Antivan ignored the hurt that she felt at her love using her full name. Falen never used it unless it was a very formal situation or unless she was extremely stressed, but this felt colder. This was about something, about a situation she had handled, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone very, very wrong. 

Leliana was the first to move, slowly slipping around, touching Cullen’s shoulder for him to follow her. He stared at Falen a moment more, trepidation in his expression before following Leliana. 

“Inquisitor…Fal,” Josephine started, “what does the letter read?”  

Falen didn’t move to hand the paper over, but she didn’t fight when Josephine slipped it out of her hands. It was news from Wycome, as she’d figured, but why this rea-

She finished the letter. Her hands were shaking and she was fairly certain her blood had gone cold. Her agents hadn’t convinced the nobles to stare down; there had been a massacre.

A  _massacre_. 

Clan Lavellan had tried to take in the city elves and flee when rebellion failed, but they hadn’t made it in time. The nobles wouldn’t even call their deaths anything more than ‘a mere accident.’

Josephine thought she was going to be sick. 

She went to say something to Falen, she ached to comfort her, for surely she must be grieving, but one look at Falen made that thought die in its tracks. 

The mage was half pure anger, half tear tracks that blurred the edges of her vallaslin. Her eyes were nothing but fury, and she wouldn’t look up from a focused point on the floor in front of her. 

Seconds later, the war room door banged open, startling Josephine. Falen’s twin, his face a mix of emotions, stood there breathless, gripping the doorframe almost to the point of it cracking. Dorian stood not far behind him, concern for the twins written all over his face.

“Leave,” Fenadrel snapped, gold eyes searing into Josephine. Dorian gestured for her to join him in the hall, and with a final look at Falen, she did. He slammed the door as soon as she stepped out.

“Fal,” he said slowly, voice soft as not to startle her, “what happened?”

“I thought,” she choked, “I thought not using violence would work. I thought this could be solved without any more bloodshed. I thought-” her voice cut off as he wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in a tight hug. “Why was I wrong?”

He hurt more for his sister than he did for his clan; he’d never really belonged there, neither of them had, but they had each other. She was First, and she loved them dearly, even if they did not feel the same about her. He had no love for the people that shunned them, but he never belied her her love for the clan. 

“People don’t always respect peace, lethallan. You know this.” He stroked her hair as electricity crackled around them; she was desperately trying to contain her magic. If Fenadrel weren’t there, she wasn’t certain the war room would still be intact. “Most humans will never see us as more than pests; obstacles at worst. Pieces to be removed so they can claim what they feel entitled to.” 

“This isn’t - this is my fault,” she shuddered. The sobs were working their way into her voice, even with her face pressed into her brother’s shoulder. His heart ached hearing her like this. “I should have been there, I’m their First, it’s my duty to-”

“You are their First no longer,” he said, voice calm and quiet. If he couldn’t stay calm, she would lose it, and he didn’t feel like having any templars rush in. “You haven’t been First since you got that mark on your hand.” 

“I should have been there, Drel! I should have protected them!” she yelled, the candles in the room flaring as she shoved at Fenadrel. He stepped back only a little, grip still tight on Falen’s shoulders. “This is my fault.”

“If it’s your fault, then it’s Josephine’s fault for not handling things any better. Sending nobles to deal with nobles is a fool’s move in combat. They had no chance of diffusing the situation.”

Falen’s eyes blazed; he was hoping for that. Anger was a better outlet for pain than exploding emotions. “You dare say this was her fault? How dare you!”

The redheaded elf shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “It’d be as much her fault as it is yours.” And then, the cue he was waiting for.

She broke, shoulders going limp under his grip as she sank to the floor, Fenadrel following her and taking her into another hug. “They’re gone, they’re  _gone_ , lethallin. It’s just us left, now.” 

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, wishing he could take away the guilt she felt, and he kept his voice soft. “It’s been just us for quite some time.” He took his twin’s hand in his before he continued. “It’s been us against the world since the day we were born. Ir lin, lethallan. We are of one blood, and of one blood we shall remain.” 

A few minutes passed before Falen quieted. “I should speak to Josephine. She probably thinks I blame her.”

“If you do not want to, I will talk to her for you. It’s no trouble. Dorian will keep you company. He’d do nearly as much for you as he would for me.”

She smiled; it could barely be called a lift of her lips, but he’d take what he could get. “That’s what happened when your best friend and twin fall for each other.”

Fenadrel shrugged. “What can I say? He has a fantastic body.” She shoved at him, bringing out a chuckle as he helped her stand. “Will you be alright?”

“No, not for a while. But I’ll have to learn how to be.”

He smiled, unable to take the sadness out of it. “We will.” She squeezed his hand one last time before releasing him, letting him lead her out of the room.

Josephine stood immediately, rubbing at her eyes where tears had clearly been. Dorian stood at her side, a concerned look on his face at the twins.

“Josephine, if you’ll come with me a moment?” Fenadrel asked as Falen sat down at the armchair, face braced on her hands. She couldn’t look at the other woman right now, the pain still stinging too freshly. Her heels were quiet clicks in the room before the sound of a door latch, and she felt Dorian’s hand on her forearm as he sat on his haunches in front of her.

“Our dear ambassador filled me in,” he said, voice almost as quiet as her brother’s had been. “Sorry is such an inadequate word.”

She looked up, exhaustion settling into her bones. Dorian had become another brother to her, a shoulder to lean on before Fenadrel found her again. “I don’t think part of me’s coming back from this, Dorian.” 

He hummed, tucking her hair behind her ear. She wanted to laugh; her brother’s habits were rubbing off on her best friend. “It doesn’t when you lose your family, even if they don’t love you as you love them.” 

“I just want it to stop. How did you deal with this?”

“Copious amounts of alcohol, and a no small order of denial.” He sighed, joke falling flat even to him. “I don’t think any of us really deal with it, Falen. It’s a matter of surviving it. And that, you can do. You do have us.”

 _Us_. She knows he means her brother and himself, Josephine; and she hoped, fervently, that the  _us_ extended to the rest of the Inquisition as well. 

Now, more than ever, she needed her friends.

No, her family. 


End file.
